


Barter

by BrighteyedJill



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-04
Updated: 2008-12-04
Packaged: 2017-11-01 21:54:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/361678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrighteyedJill/pseuds/BrighteyedJill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter had never been great at staging daring rescues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Barter

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this is self-indulgent porn, why do you ask? Takes place right after the events of 3x10. I wrote it last week, but if I’d waited until 3x11 aired and seen how pretty Nathan looked in chains, this might have turned out differently… Thanks to [](http://redandglenda.livejournal.com/profile)[**redandglenda**](http://redandglenda.livejournal.com/) for the beta. Also counting as one of my Author's Choice for [](http://un-love-you.livejournal.com/profile)[**un_love_you**](http://un-love-you.livejournal.com/): "I'm never enough."

  


[ ](http://s562.photobucket.com/albums/ss62/HSFAWinter2009/?action=view&current=noncon_brighteyed.jpg)

  


“You cannot beat Samedi in his own camp. You must wait until they move your brother. Then we can strike.”

 

Peter shook his head at the Haitian—it seemed ridiculous to call him that here in his own country—who had stopped beside him in the jungle. “You don’t know what’s happening. They could be torturing him, for all you know.”

 

“You cannot save him if they kill you,” the Haitian pointed out.

 

“I can’t save him if he’s dead, either.”

 

For a moment, the Haitian looked as if he might argue: that they wouldn’t kill him, that Arthur wouldn’t authorize it. But then he shut his mouth, and nodded.  
\--

 

Peter had never been a great at staging daring rescues. He’d failed at rescuing a cat from a tree on his grandfather’s estate and gotten badly scratched for his trouble. He’d failed at rescuing his relationship with Margot Goldberg from the clutches of his extreme apathy. He’d failed at rescuing his pre-law grades from the Dean’s probation list.

 

Yes, he managed to rescue Claire in Odessa, back when he had mysterious abilities he hadn’t understood. Back when he was special. He couldn’t count on that now. He could only succeed or fail on his own, as a regular person, powers be damned. Peter hoped that was enough.  
\--

 

The Haitian led the way through the jungle, following paths Peter couldn’t begin to make out. “When we get close to the camp,” the Haitian said, “We must be silent. We cannot hope to beat them by force, so we must have the element of surprise.”

 

They walked in silence for a minute. Worry swirled in Peter’s head, and he asked, “Do you think he’ll hurt Nathan?”

 

“Samedi is a god in his own mind. He buys and sells men and women like animals. He takes whatever he wants. He kills without mercy.”

 

Peter shuddered, and wished the eclipse would end and the sun would banish the long, dark shadows that lurked among the trees. “Nathan’s not dead,” he said, more to himself than his companion.

 

“No,” the Haitian said kindly. “Samedi could have shot him first thing. He is waiting for something.”

 

“What’s he waiting for?”

 

The Haitian held up a signal to stop, and he took a few careful steps off the path, listening.

 

“Hey, what is he waiting for?” Peter asked. He crept closer to where the Haitian stood.

 

The Haitian hissed a whispered, “Peter, stop!” There was a sudden whoosh and thump. Then the jungle turned upside down. Gunfire echoed through the trees, and Peter caught a glimpse of the Haitian running.

 

Peter was off his feet, tangled in a net. A moment later, a man in fatigues stood over Peter. He struck with the butt of his gun, and everything went black.  
\--

 

Peter wondered how the Haitian felt about fighting his brother. He wondered how long they’d been enemies, and what had happened to make them that way. He’d been angry with Nathan before, of course. They’d fought bitterly, and screamed, and threw punches. They’d never been enemies. Peter didn’t want to believe that anything in the world could turn them against each other like that.  
\--

 

“Get off of him!”

 

Peter woke to the sound of Nathan shouting. His head throbbed. He forced his eyes open to catch abstract glimpses of his surroundings: water dripping from the tin roof, the leg of a chair, a camouflage colored jacket. A slap landed on his cheek, and he was able to focus in on the face of the grinning soldier who crouched over him.

 

Peter was on his back on the floor of a dingy hut. His clothes were gone, and the splintery floor dug into the naked skin of his back. They’d stripped him. There was only one reason to do that. The pain faded to a dull background buzz as terror overwhelmed it. The soldier grinned at him, and said something in French.

 

“Peter!”

 

Peter turned his head to see Nathan tied to a chair, straining against the ropes. His clothes clung to sweat-slick skin, and his face was smudged with dirt, but he didn’t look injured. Samedi—it must be him—stood next to Nathan.

 

“Are you ready to listen now, Nathan?” Samedi said, placing a hand on Nathan’s shoulder. “We have so much to discuss.”

 

Nathan kept his eyes trained on Peter. “I’m not discussing anything with you until my brother’s safe.”

 

“You’re not the one with the negotiating power here, _Senator_ ,” Samedi sneered.

 

Samedi nodded at the soldier next to Peter, whose smile grew wider. A second soldier moved from the door, grabbed Peter’s arms, and pinned them to the floor above his head. He tried to pull away, but it was difficult to get his body to respond correctly.

 

“Get away from him.” Nathan’s voice cut through the buzzing in Peter’s ears, loud and commanding, and completely without effect.

 

Peter heard the telltale snap of latex, and then felt a hot press of flesh at his ass. The man’s cock was barely slick—just the bit of lube from the condom to ease the way—but he forced it in mercilessly. Peter thrashed under him, unable to find words of protest, but objecting in desperate, pained groans.

 

“Jesus, stop it, Samedi. Call them off!”

 

The Baron’s answer was soft, only loud enough for Peter to hear over the harsh breathing of the soldiers. “Speak again before I tell you, and I’ll let every man in camp take a turn with him.” Floorboards creaked as Samedi moved, and when he spoke again, it was from further away. “Just watch.”

 

The soldier pushed Peter’s legs up to his chest and then snapped his hips forward to force his cock in. Peter bit his lip to stop the awful noises that threatened to pour out of him. He didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of hearing him sob. The burn and stretch inside him compounded with the throbbing in his head from being knocked out and scratch of the rough floor digging into his back. He tried to concentrate on breathing, on centering himself, but the soldiers seemed to be everywhere at once: touching him, taking him. Peter bit down further on his lip and tasted blood.

 

For a few moments the shack was silent aside from the drip of water and the pleased grunts of the soldier as he thrust his way further inside Peter. Finally, he stopped, his camo jacket pressed against Peter’s belly, his powerful arms pressing Peter’s bare legs almost to his shoulders. He was all the way in.

 

“How is he?” Samedi asked.

 

“Good,” the soldier said. “Tight.”

 

Peter stole one glance over at Nathan. His eyes were fixed on the soldier, but they flicked to Peter for only the barest of seconds. Peter couldn’t read Nathan’s expression, but he couldn’t bear to keep looking at him, to be seen by him. He didn’t want to make this any harder for either of them. Peter squeezed his eyes shut and turned away.

 

“Hear that?” The floorboards creaked again as Samedi moved around Nathan. “Your brother is very nice.”

 

Peter couldn’t be sure, but he thought he heard something that sounded like a growl from Nathan.

 

“You have something to say?” Samedi asked.

 

“What do you want me to do.”

 

“Just go back home to your father.”

 

“No!” Peter chanced opening his eyes, and saw Samedi leaning over Nathan, a hand on his shoulder. “He’ll kill you!” He struggled until the soldier backhanded him.

 

From across the room, Samedi laughed. “We would have killed you already, Mister Big Senator, if I wanted you dead. Or if Arthur wanted you dead.”

 

“So what do you want?” Nathan asked. He was looking at Peter again without really meeting his eyes, focusing on a point on the floor just beyond his shoulder. Not giving anything away.

 

“For now, just watch.”

 

The soldier pulled his hips back and slammed into Peter again. Peter let his eyes fall closed again, even though it brought the pain into sharper focus. He couldn’t bear to catch of glimpse of Nathan’s face while this was happening. The soldier leaned over Peter as he fucked him, panting with pleasure and occasionally chuckling when a particularly brutal thrust caused Peter to recoil. The soldier holding Peter’s arms pulled them further, stretching Peter’s body painfully across the splintery floor.

 

“Stop it.” Nathan’s voice rose above the pained clamor in Peter’s head. “This is really not necessary. Tell me what to do.”

 

“No—,” Peter began, but the soldier clamped a hand down over his mouth.

 

Samedi made a gesture to the soldier, and he stopped where he was, on top of Peter, in him, but not moving.

 

“You fly back to your father,” Samedi said. “Listen to what he has to say. We keep your brother here as insurance.”

 

“That’s not going to happen,” Nathan said.

 

“Pity.” Samedi snapped his fingers at the soldiers, and suddenly Peter found himself being pulled to his feet and dragged out of the shack. “Nathan!” As soon as he realized what was happening, he fought the soldiers, trying to dig in his feet, to wriggle out of their grasp, anything.

 

“Peter!”

 

Peter caught one last glimpse of his brother’s horrified face before Samedi slammed the door.  
\--

 

The rain fell steadily, dripping down through the trees to soak the ground. The soldiers boots churned up the mud as they dragged Peter around the back of the building. They threw him to the ground on his knees, and he was still busy trying to wipe the mud out of his eyes when the first soldier pulled Peter back onto his cock and resumed fucking him with short, brutal thrusts.

 

Peter tried to stay focused on the wet ground in front of him, ignoring the pain, the filth, the soldier’s rough hands dragging over his skin. He refused to cry out. He didn’t want Nathan to hear.

 

After a few moments, the soldier thrust in one more time and clamped his hands around Peter’s hips as he came. The second soldier said something in French, and they both laughed. As soon as he was released, Peter slumped against the wet ground, too weak to hold himself up.

 

“Please,” he said. The word barely made it out, and it drown in the rain before it reached the soldier’s ears. He had no French to draw on, as Nathan did, but he had to say something. He tried again. “Please stop. I need to talk to my brother.”

 

The second soldier grabbed Peter by the chin. He was taller than his comrade, and his smile was more cruel than gleeful. “The Baron is talking to your brother. You are ours to play with.”  
\--

 

Peter had always seen his brother as a powerful man. Even when Nathan was wrong, even when he was cruel, he was powerful. In grade school, Peter couldn’t have thought of anything more _powerful_ than having a brother in the Navy.

 

Peter was thirteen when Nathan was injured in Bosnia, and the experience may have scarred him more than it had Nathan. He saw that Nathan wasn’t invulnerable, and he wouldn’t live forever. He came home in pain, and finally Peter did have something valuable to offer his big brother. He could care for Nathan at a time when Nathan himself wasn’t even sure what he needed.

 

Peter weathered his brother’s pent-up aggression during the weeks Nathan was bed-ridden. He learned to change Nathan’s wound dressings form the nurse who visited daily, but whose presence Nathan greatly resented, until Angela decided Peter was competent enough that she didn't have to come. He sat silently through Arthur’s lectures about Nathan’s superior character, gritting his teeth and nodding while his father detailed all of Peter's shortcomings. He broke up with his girlfriend of the moment to spend more evenings at home, keeping his patient company. He took care of Nathan for once. Nathan never said thank you, and he’d never mentioned it in all the years since. Peter knew he must remember, must have been grateful for what Pete had done for him. The alternative—that his sacrifice had gone unnoticed, or unappreciated—was unthinkable.  
\--

 

Later, the soldiers pulled Peter to his feet and pushed him against the wall. For one gut-wrenching instant, Peter was certain he was going to be executed. Then he saw Baron Samedi standing before him, grinning. “Are my men showing you hospitality?”

 

Peter spit at him, but Samedi only chuckled warmly. “Your father told me we could do whatever we wanted to you. He said he needs your brother and wants him back in one piece, but that you were only useful to him as a bargaining tool. How does that feel?”

 

“You’re lying.”

 

“Am I?” He ran a hand through Peter’s hair, and Peter lunged at him. Quick as a snake, one of the soldiers stepped up and punched him in the gut, leaving him gasping.

 

“Oh Peter.” Samedi chuckled. “I know how it feels to be abandoned, rejected by your family. But I let it make me strong. You let your father make you weak.”

 

“You don’t know anything about my family,” Peter wheezed.

 

“Your family is not so different from others. Your father controls many destinies, as I do, here in my kingdom.” He brushed his fingers against Peter’s cheek, and this time Peter stopped himself from reacting. “I could sell you, Peter Petrelli. It would not be difficult to find a buyer for such a pretty face. Would you like to be a slave, little man?”

 

“I don’t care what you do to me,” Peter growled.

 

“But you do care what happens to your brother.” When Peter didn’t answer, Samedi smiled in understanding. “I could do to him what we’ve done to you today.”

 

“No.” The word was out of Peter’s mouth before he’d even thought it, but it was the only thing he _could_ say. He’d do anything to prevent that.

 

“No? He would be more difficult to sell, perhaps. He is older than my usual merchandise.” Samedi stepped back and rubbed his chin, pretending to consider. “And I think he would not be as… docile as you. Perhaps he is too much effort. I may shoot him.”

 

“What do you want from me?” Peter asked wearily.

 

“I will let you see your brother. You have five minutes. If he has not agreed to go back to his father, I will give you back to the men, and I will put a bullet in your brother’s head." Samedi leaned in close and lowered his voice to a whisper that was only just audible over the terrified pounding of Peter’s heart. "Very simple. I have no more time to spend with Arthur’s little games.”

 

Peter closed his eyes, but the nausea and the terror didn’t disappear. When he opened them again, he saw the light shining through the forest as the moon finished passing in front of the sun. “Give me some clothes,” he told Samedi. “He won’t go if sees me like this.”  
\--

 

Peter would do anything for his brother. He had let the world think he was a head case to help Nathan’s campaign. He hadn’t been happy about it, but he’d done in. He’d made himself a prisoner, taking pills every day to keep himself from hurting Nathan again. He’d stopped taking the pills and gotten his powers back just on the off chance that he could fix Nathan. Now that Nathan was the only one with powers—the only one still _powerful_ —it was more important than ever for Peter to do what he had to do.  
\--

 

“Peter!” Nathan struggled in his bonds the moment Peter appeared in the doorway.

 

“Shhh.” Peter rushed forward and knelt in front of his brother. He ignored the ache that plagued him and the sharp pain inside when he moved too fast. “We don’t have much time.”

 

“Get me out of these.” Nathan pulled at the ropes again. “We’ve got to go.”

 

“I know,” Peter said, but he made no move to untie Nathan. “They’ve got guns, and they’re going to shoot us both unless you listen to me.”

 

“We’re wasting time,” Nathan hissed.

 

“Tell them you’ll go back to see Arthur. That’s what they want.”

 

“No—.”

 

“Listen, Nathan!” Peter dug his hands into Nathan’s knees and soldiered on. He had to finish this before Samedi came to make good his threat. “Go back to Hartsdale instead. Talk to Mom. She’ll help.” Peter knew that if anyone could prevent Nathan from returning on a suicide mission to rescue Peter, it would be Angela. She would understand what Peter had to do.

 

 

“I am not leaving you,” Nathan growled. “I’m not letting them touch you again.”

 

“Nathan, if you’re gone, they have no reason to…” He sucked in a steadying breath. “They only hurt me to torture you. As soon as they took me outside… Nothing.”

 

“You’re full of shit,” Nathan said suspiciously.

 

“If you don’t do this, it’s not you they’ll hurt. You’ve seen that already.” Nathan recoiled from that, the implication that Peter’s pain was his fault. That was good. Peter could use that. He pressed on. “As long as you don’t cooperate, they’re going to keep…” He let a quaver creep into his voice. He hated himself for it, but it had the desired effect.

 

“I can’t leave you,” Nathan said. Softer now: he was caving.

 

Peter threw his arms around him and buried his face in Nathan’s side. “I can’t do this with you here. I can’t be strong if you’re watching. So go, please. It will stop if you just go.”

 

The door clattered open, and Samedi swaggered in, followed by the two soldiers who’d been with Peter earlier. Samedi grabbed Peter by the back of his neck, pulled him up, away from Nathan, and pressed a gun to his temple. He nodded to the nearest soldier, who crept forward to cut Nathan’s ropes with a pocket knife before retreating.

 

“I will ask you only once more, Senator Petrelli. Go home to your father, and your brother may live.”

 

Nathan pushed himself out of the chair, brushing off the ropes, and took one menacing step forward. Samedi tightened his grip on Peter’s arm and pressed the muzzle of his pistol harder against Peter’s head.

 

“Nathan, please,” Peter whispered. He stayed still, but he caught Nathan’s eyes to show him he wasn’t hiding anything. He willed Nathan to fall for it, to believe that leaving was right, even as his heart pounded in terror at the thought of being left alone here.

 

“Peter…” Nathan said.

 

“Your decision, Senator?” Samedi asked. Beside him, the soldiers gripped their guns tighter.

 

Nathan took a step forward, and everyone readied their trigger fingers. Nathan nodded to Peter, and said, “I will come back for you.” Then he pushed past the soldiers out into the yard, gathered himself, and tore off into the sky.

 

Samedi and the two soldiers watched him for a moment until the dark blur that was Nathan Petrelli disappeared into the clouds. Samedi clapped Peter on the back. “Well, done. You’ve been a good boy.”

 

Peter didn’t feel good. He felt sick. He felt like he’d slit his own throat.

 

“Take him to my tent.”

 

The two soldiers took him by the arms and steered him roughly further into the camp. Peter barely saw where he was going, barely felt it as they pushed him onto the cot in Samedi’s tent. Instead, he thought of Nathan, blazing across the sky, towards home, towards safety. It was worth the price—any price—for that.


End file.
